


Anchor

by Tish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Concussions, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sleepy Foreplay, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Peglar is injured and his favourite steward steps up to assist.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Harry Peglar
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acephalous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acephalous/gifts).



Driving rain ran rivulets down Peglar's face as he raced to secure the sail's position. Despite the murky night, and the treacherous wet, Peglar could navigate the sodden beam like a cat, albeit a drenched one.

Another huge wave slammed against the ship, almost sending him soaring, but he'd had the foresight to loop some rope around him. It still wrenched him off-balance, though, and pain tore through his shoulder as he finished up.

Every heaving breath of air brought a mouthful of water, but the coldness revived him a little. _Rather a mouthful of rain than a lungful of brine_ , he thought to himself as he cautiously made his way down the mast, following his sailmates to the relative safety and warmth of below decks.

The ship was listing like mad as the men cake-walked along the deck, sliding and slipping along, then grabbing hold of any handhold whenever the waves sent the ship pitching the other way. Wildly swinging lamps were like pinpoints of light in the gloom, but they were like lighthouses to Peglar, and soon he was within reach of the hatch.

Something roaring and black enveloped him and he felt weightless for a moment, then he opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on the lower deck, a taste of something thick and strange in his mouth.

Someone was saying something, off in the distance, as Peglar tried to focus. A face came looming in front of him and yelled silently at him.

“No, I'm fine,” Peglar meant to say, except a muffled sound rang inside his head.

He found himself dragged up and practically carried along, right into the infirmary, where chaos reigned.

A wadded-up rag was shoved in Peglar's hand and his hand was then moved to cover his nose and mouth. As he pulled it away, he was surprised to see the rag now darkened.

“Blood?” Peglar asked, dazed. “That's my blood. It shouldn't be there, it should be in my nose.”

“He's off with the mermaids, that one,” came a voice from a similarly bloodied sailor, one amongst the crowd of injured men.

“Walloped his head on the way down,” said one of the Mates, before ruffling Peglar's hair. “You'll have a right shiner, Peglar, my lad.”

Still confused, Peglar mumbled back, “I thought it's night, so why's it shining? The sun.”

“No, son. Your eye. You'll end up with a big black eye,” the Mate said, wincing at the harried surgeon prodded at his wounded arm.

“Like Mr. Bridgens,” Peglar said as he drew a vague eye-shape in the air above his forearm.

The Mate, the surgeon, and the sailor all stared at Peglar, mystified.

“Away with the mermaids,” repeated the Mate, with a laugh.

With the heat from the press of men, and his own fatigue, Peglar soon found himself drifting away to sleep, sitting up against a wall and some sort of crate. Whatever bliss he'd gained from the all too brief sleep was snatched away when his eyes were pulled open by the surgeon and he found himself blinking in the bright lamp light.

The surgeon muttered under his breath as he looked at Peglar. “He'll live.”

“Glad to hear it,” a beloved voice answered.

Peglar swivelled to the sweetness of John's voice and smiled. “I was with the mermaids.”

“Bonked his head, he means,” the surgeon retorted. “I don't have room for him here, not with so many worse off, so put him somewhere else would you?”

“I'd be glad to,” Bridgens said with a twinkle in his eye as he gently pulled Peglar to his feet. “Come on, Henry.”

Peglar let himself be guided out the infirmary, nestling deep into Bridgens' shoulder as they made their way along the tilting and shifting deck.

“Storm's settling down, Henry. You should sleep in my bunk,” John said quietly as he slid open the door to his tiny cabin.

“John,” Henry started to speak, voice quiet and conspiratorial. “Wait, I forget. My nose hurts.”

Guiding Henry to sit on the bed, John tenderly felt along Henry's cheek and nose, taking his hand away all too soon. “You hit your head and face. I don't think there's any lasting damage, though.”

“I remember. I think,” Henry said as he lay down. “No, I don't.”

“Don't worry about remembering, just let yourself get better,” John soothed, perching on the end of the bed.

“Will you talk to me, John?” Henry said, his voice soft and caught in a dream. “Tell me the stories of your tattoos.”

“The milestones of my life,” John said, eyes shining with love.

Henry reached out, grasping John's hand. “Will you show me as you speak?”

“Some might have to wait until later tonight. I have a dinner service to organise soon.” There was a rustle of cloth and John pointed to his right arm. “But, in the meantime, the anchor was the first. A sign of a new life at sea, and of hope.”

Henry felt along the faded ink lines. “Hope for the future?”

“Where there's hope, there's life,” John affirmed.

Henry tried to imagine those lines fresh and dark, on younger skin, on a younger John. “You would have been so handsome as a youth.”

“I was told so, now and again,” John said doubtfully. “I don't know if I would believe such things.”

“I would turn back all the clocks in this world and go back to tell you so,” Henry whispered as he kissed the anchor. “I would convince you so.”

“No need to move the hands of any clock, Henry.” John took each of Henry's hands in his. “You are my every hour, every minute, every second of my days.”

Henry suddenly gasped with laughter, and pulled John to him. “Well, you do have the pendulum of a grandfather clock swinging between your legs!”

John made a tutting sound and his voice grew grave. “Henry Peglar, if you insist on winding me up, I shan't tell you any more about my tattoos!”

A look of alarm flashed across Henry's face, before he noticed the growing smile on John's. “John Bridgens,” he breathed, “I shall put my key into you and wind you up and you'll go all night and all day!”

“I wouldn't go that far,” John had to stifle a laugh as he replied. “But, let me get the officers fed and watered, then I shall return with tales of mermaids and far-off lands.” He hovered for a moment, before diving in for a kiss.

The touch of John's lips sent sparks throughout Henry's body, and he yearned for this moment to last forever.

“I'll be dreaming of them, John,” Henry said, sleepily. “I'll show you my dreams and you'll show me your stories.”

With the storm calmed and tamed, the ship still heaved now and again, but Henry soared in his dreams, a long but invisible and weightless chain tethering him to his anchor.

~@~

Henry stirred as shuffling sounds filtered into his sleep, and he opened blurry eyes to John setting up a hammock in the small amount of free space the cabin held.

“You're not sleeping next to me?” Henry whispered, disappointment creeping into his voice as he grasped at the pillow underneath him.

“Just keeping up appearances,” John whispered back, sitting on the bed. “Now, I made a trade with my esteemed colleague Mr. Roberts so I could skive off early and tend to you. How's the head?”

“Still attached, I think,” Henry mumbled, before rubbing his free arm. “It's my shoulder that's hurting now.”

John gently moved Henry's undershirt aside and carefully felt along the shoulder. “That's going to bruise up a far bit. Looks like you wrenched a muscle. I can fetch some liniment later.”

Eyes half-closed, Henry moaned slightly. “That feels good. I dreamt you did that and pushed your whole hand inside my skin and it was so warm and you hugged my whole body like that.”

John carefully got on the bed, lying down beside him. “I can't hug you quite like that, but let's see what I can do.”

Henry trembled slightly as John's hands started wandering over him, pulling in close. The comforting warmth grew between them, as John melded his body behind Henry's.

Henry languidly lifted a hand and tapped John's chest. “The mermaid, tell me about the mermaid.”

“The mermaid? Therein lies a tale. Far away, and long ago, there was a wild storm upon the high seas and I was shipwrecked. As I slowly sank below the waves, I thought I was through with my lot in life when I felt something drag me back up from the depths of the ocean up to the sunny skies. It was as if there'd never been a storm at all.” John felt Henry gasp slightly, but he didn't speak, so he continued his story. “Who was this unexpected saviour, so far from land? Well, she said her name was Cariad and she had a face like a trout, but to me she was the most beautiful woman in the world, not that I'm any judge of that sort of thing. Anyway, Cariad was as strong as an ox and carried me on the waves to safety, and for that I'll be eternally grateful. I told her so, and she just smiled and waved with her flipper as she swam away. And that, Henry, is the story of my mermaid tattoo.”

Henry twisted around slightly, narrowing his eyes skeptically as he tried to hold back his laughter. “I don't believe a word of that.”

“Henry, when do I ever exaggerate?” John asked patiently, moving his hands down to rub around Henry's waist, then even lower to caress his prick.

“Whenever you want to distract me from my woes and worries, John,” Henry softly replied, happily settling his head back against John's chest. “You're my anchor.”

“I want your body to tell stories. I want to help you write the tale of your life, Henry,” John's voice became a little muffled as he pressed kisses against Henry's neck.

“I want to see the sea, and see you as you see me. I want to remember how it felt when we met, when we first made love. I want to see and feel you until our tattoos fade into our skin.” Henry's voice grew quieter and slower as he drifted into sleep.

As Henry slowly descended into slumber, he thrilled at John's exploring kisses, and at his fingers tending to his cock, his mind conjuring blurry shapes that molded themselves into eyes.

Coming in his sleep, tiny curls and whorls formed around the eyes as they burned themselves into his memory, and Henry knew he would remember them when he woke.


End file.
